The Ending of Things
by Jody Barsch
Summary: In the wake of Graham moving out Patty has sunk into depression, Danielle has completely withdrawn from the world, and Angela is left alone to function and keep things afloat. The absence of any parental oversight allows Jordan an in to get closer, but how will Angela cope when the only one paying attention is her? ...
1. Patty

_**Disclaimer: I do NOT believe this as a storyline, I in fact have spent years arguing against this, but, according to a talk Winnie Holzman gave at UC Berkley, she**_** did s****_ee this in the characters' futures, so this is me playing at what that might have looked like. Though again, I still do NOT think this is where MSCL_****_ was heading. _****[**_If you want to read an account of the talk you can visit mscl com forum, go to "The Afterlife of Cast and Crew" go to "Winnie Holzman" and open the "I met Winnie Holzman!" thread_**]**

* * *

Angela knocks lightly, waits, then pushes open the door to her parents' room. It feels so different now, that end of the house, now that her father is gone. In some ways she'd seen it coming, but really, it'd taken them all by surprise. Not one of the Chases had seen this for themselves. Even while the separation was happening, it didn't seem real. It was as if it was happening to some one else, to some other family. But it did happen to them. Graham Chase moved out.

It wasn't because of Halle. Hallie Lowenthal was a symptom; she'd merely slipped into the cracks of the growing divide between Patty and Graham. The divide that had maybe shook their foundation at different times, but had never seemed to threaten to unroot and collapse their entire world. Until it did.

No, it wasn't because of Hallie; it had started before her. It had started before the girl who grabbed his tie. Graham honestly couldn't say when, or why it had started. And who was to say where it would end? Graham had long thought of it as something he had to — and _would —_ get over on his own. For one thing he never saw it as inherently to do with_ Patty_. Not fully. It was something inside of him, something that was missing or somehow off, _outside their marriage_. He had never planned to leave. He wanted the marriage, their family, to work, and to last. But she grew suspicious and things came to a head in a way they were never meant to. And he couldn't walk it back from there. He's been gone now for three weeks. And in that time, the Chase home has descended into the bell jar.

Tepidly Angela turns the knob, and pushes open the door. In bed, Patty lies curled on her side, lying like dead weight. A scene grown too familiar to her older daughter. It's not her mother there on that empty queen bed, it's a shell; an empty husk, a hollow waif unequipped to reconcile the reality of her circumstances with the vision of her life she'd built for eighteen years.

If she makes herself look at it objectively, Angela knows this hasn't been anything close to easy on her father. She might even recognize that her mother might have played some limited part in all this, but Angela is not in the least inclined to look at this objectively. Objectively, she has been left. And alone as she is, it doesn't matter to her that it had been hell on Graham to tell the girls. In truth it had been hell on him to leave, to leave all three of them, but it doesn't matter to her. She has been left. It doesn't matter to her that nothing about the separation made him feel free — not even the end of fighting. She just doesn't care.

Other things are taking precedence.

The room Angela steps into feels dark and closed in; it is not a mess — Angela's been straightening up — but everything about it feels different. The room, the house, their lives, have shifted; it's only right to her that guilt should consume her father.

The room is desolate, and emotionally void — it is no longer a place that is lived in. "Mom," Angela says softly, like she's reaching out to her across a vacuum. Patty doesn't speak. She does not stir. Angela, her eyes wide and brow furrowed, tries again, even softer. "_Mom_."

Patty's glazed eyes blink. Her head shifts just fractionally. "Angela, please," she sighs. At this point she doesn't know what she's asking for. _To be left alone? To be allowed to sink back into the darkness? To not have to have or be reminded of the state she's descended into?_ _For the girls to go it on their own a little longer?_ She summons enough wherewithal to lift her head and say, "Make sure you girls eat." Then her jaw sinks back into the pillow. "And the garbage," Patty rubs at her eye, "is someone making sure the cans go out and in?"

"Mom." Angela's brow knits tighter. "_Please_…" But no further response comes. She's disappeared again. And Angela, still in the threshold, waiting, eventually retreats, and silently shuts the door behind her.

* * *

**_Okay, now that that is done, I just have to say: 'Patty + Graham Forever!'_**


	2. Danielle

Behind the closed door of the girls' shared bathroom, still in her school clothes, Danielle sits alone in the empty bathtub. She's doing her homework, as she does all things these days, behind locked door.

Angela knocks on the door. "Danielle. _ Danielle come out."

Danielle's eventual answer is distant and dulled. "I'm not hungry."

"You don't have to eat," Angela offers. She just wants that door to open. She wants someone else to be alive and present in this house with her. She can't keep on talking to her family through shut doors.

Danielle takes her time in responding. It's quiet in the bathroom. Quiet in the cool, tiled room in the quiet still house. Too often life happens around Danielle — _to_ her, _around_ her, _without_ her. Her parents' fighting happened around her. Their split happened without her. If life is a series of things she can't control that endlessly exclude her, she's excusing herself. She's not in there wanting things to go back to normal. She's in there to be left alone. To stop thinking about what is normal. She's in there to adjust, and to acclimate, and to — accept the new quiet of the house.

"I'm doing homework." Her sullen voice is low, and stiff. She's less quick to speak these days. There's fewer people around now to listen.

Angela presses her palm solemnly against the door; she doesn't know what else to say. She should not have to go through the motions of normality on her own. Even if at this point it is just going through the motions. Her mother, her sister, they're not going through this alone. Life as she knew it has been pulled out from under her too.

Though she'd had some reason to look it for it, it was none the less a disorienting blow to her when it really happened. It is not just to Danielle that this has happened. Disillusionment is lonely. And Angela does not choose to lose her family piecemeal. "You've been locked in there for hours. For days. Just. Stop hiding in the bathroom."

"I'm not hiding."

Angela's tired forehead falls against the door. "Please."

Danielle hears everything that's in her sister's voice. She hesitates... thinks... but in the end pursues her own impulse... "Go away."


	3. Jordan

Downstairs, alone, Angela sits at the dining room table, dispassionately stabbing her fork at a pitiful looking bowl of spaghetti. Somewhere her father's off cooking something amazing for someone else, and she's here, with luke warm, overdone, limp, tasteless noodles. And there in the large space of the first floor of her family's home, with every single lamp and light turned on, she doesn't even have the interest to reach for the salt.

There's a slight knock at the back door before she hears the knob turn and open. There's only one person it can be. Since moving to Pride House Rickie no longer stops by unannounced, Sharon always uses the front door, and Brian's still keeping his distance. Jordan let's himself in, peeks into the kitchen, but ventures no further. "Angela—" Though he does not move down the hall he speaks her name without much concern of being overheard. Lately, he's found no one's around to hear, or mind.

Angela looks away from congealed tomato-based goop and answers lightly over her shoulder. "In here." The sound of Jordan Catalano's voice has become commonplace in the Chase house, for anyone who leaves their room to hear it.

The coast clear, Jordan advances down the hallway with cool familiarity, past the stairs, toward the dining room. There he leans against the entrance way, and there he looks at her. Though he's familiar with the house, and pretty much spends more time downstairs these days than either Danielle or Patty, it is not his house, and he does not treat it as though it is. He still hangs back some; this is not his place, and they're not playing house. "Hey." His cool eyes look about the place, "Your mom home?" When Angela does not speak he glances up to the ceiling, "In bed?"

There's little need to answer; even when she's not in bed, there's still an air of slumber about Patty. Such that she's barely recognizable as herself. Jordan nods then enters the dining room. With just the lightest tug on her sleeve he pulls her up from her chair and walks her over to the sofa where he pulls her down with him. Sitting beside him her head lays on his chest and absentmindedly, looking blankly across the room, he plays with her hair. After a long time, Angela releases a deep breath. Jordan nods, and speaks into the top of her head, "Yeah."

"I can't get her to talk to me. Not about anything other than garbage cans. Danielle's in avoidance-mode overdrive. It's a mess."

Jordan looks down at her, "Heard from your dad?"

Angela straightens a little, looking up at him from beneath knit brows, "I don't know what to say to him." She doesn't know if she can forgive, or if it's her place to forgive. She doesn't know how to let her father be her father anymore, now that the truth they'd all agreed upon as a family has been betrayed. Rather than allow anger and abandonment to get the better of her, Angela purposefully changes the subject, "Hungry?" She's looking up at him with those large soft-blue eyes, looking at him like his stomach's all that's on her mind, and Jordan graciously accepts the subject change.

He shrugs, and pulls her with him from the couch as he rises. He doesn't speak much about all this, _who is he to tell her it'll be all right? _For one thing, his standards for 'all right' vary greatly from hers — by his measure her family's still doing fine. He's there because he likes her, and because he senses she needs someone being there just for her, and it helps he doesn't need anything heavy back from her. He's not there to make her talk to him about it. Instead he reaches out his fingertips to lightly push her in the center of the back as she walks before him to the kitchen. He'll be quiet with her, he'll be solemn, he will listen, he'll lend a hand in what small capacity he is able, but he's not tiptoeing around her, and he's not letting her sink into a mess of self-pity.

Pushing the kitchen door open for him, Angela looks at him dully and remarks dryly on what she has on offer to serve him, "It's pretty awful."

"Hmph," Jordan eyes her and snorts as he passes. "Even better."


	4. Distraction in a quiet house

Backs up against the wall, Angela and Jordan sit side by side in the upstairs hallway. They sit in silence at either side of the bathroom door, picking at the terrible spaghetti. Between them waits a third bowl, should Danielle emerge, or, even just open the door.

...

An hour passes and eventually they migrate downstairs again. Danielle only crossed the thirteen steps from the bathroom to her bedroom once they were safely downstairs and in the kitchen. It's close to ten, it's dark outside the kitchen windows, Danielle's living off crackers and a jar of peanut butter she has stashed in her room, Patty hasn't eaten or slept for more than three solid hours since who knows when, and Jordan and Angela have the house to themselves.

Jordan leans across the counter, picking out the carrots from his bowl of microwaved mixed vegetables, trying to call up something funny from the day to relate to his girlfriend as she does the dishes. In a robe, looking exhausted and worse for the wear, Patty descends the stairs and enters into the kitchen. Though she's been managing to get it up for work each day so far, every still-functioning part of her drains upon returning home; she hardly notices either of them as she shuffles past. Jordan doesn't even seem to register on her radar.

Jordan stays put, keeping out of the way and watches her, his eyebrows slightly lifted as he passively observers her. Patty goes to pour herself a cup of day old coffee, absently patting Angela on the back a few times as she passes. As Patty looks blankly into her room temperature mug she hardly reacts to the ring of the telephone breaking the room's silence.

When Graham'd first left, the phone ringing was an event of central focus, but now it's like a background noise she can't quite place or signify the meaning of, like the vague distant chirping of an outdated smoke detector. As the phone continues ringing she initially looks at it in wary alarm, then scowls at it for half a moment, then picks up the receiver. Angela watches this anxiously.

"Hell'o," Patty's voice is utterly drained. Her brow creases as she listens to the caller on the other end. "_ No. No, there's no Tino here."

At this Jordan deftly straightens, and saunters towards Patty. "Here." And he slips the phone from her hands, and takes over at least this one minor problem.

Jordan walks the phone and the phone call into the hallway, the extra long coiled phone cord stretching to full length, and Angela tries to tempt her mother with food, who in the end ends up retreating upstairs. "Good'nigh'."

Jordan reenters and hangs up the phone, looking after the swinging door through which Patty Chase exited. "Ev'rything okay?" he asks.

Angela looks at him and lips pursed nods. "Mm,hm."

"She any better?"

Angela shrugs. "How am I supposed ta tell?"

Jordan moves closer to her, and with his face close to her ear, pulls the dishrag from her hands, chucks it into the sink, and wordlessly intertwines his fingers in hers. "Bed?" he asks, jerking his head in the direction of her bedroom.

Angela tightens her fingers around his and with a nod, allows herself to give up on the day, and leads her boyfriend toward the stairs to her room. One by one they flip the switches and turn the knobs to every light on the ground floor, then walk together to mount the stairs, brush their teeth, and put themselves to bed.

Shutting off her bedside lamp, so that her room now is lit only by a distant streetlamp and the back neighbor's flickering yellow porch light, Angela climbs in bed beside him. Jordan sleeps over at Angela's house a lot now. Most nights in fact. Easily their legs tangle and wrap together as she tucks in closer to him and Jordan wraps his arm around her. Gripping her shoulder to him, Jordan exhales, while his mind, though not his hands, journey further down. With her face tucked her into the nook of his neck, Angela lies there, letting the day and the weeks once more fall away; she breathes him in, _cigarettes, peppermint, and... boy_, and snugs in closer, nuzzling his neck and setting small slow kisses on the under shelf of his jaw. In response to her touch Jordan shifts his head, catching her lips with his, and holds her there, one deep lengthy kiss following another.

Though in bed beside one another, both in some degree of undress, their kisses lead no further than lips on lips and embracing holds; they're not there for sex. Or, she isn't. And Jordan's there, for what he can get, but also just to be there, with her. He'd done the separation thing from her already — staying away because there wasn't going to be sex — it hadn't gone so well. So he's on a new tack now, giving it a try — what Angela had once called 'working up to it.' Though some nights spent together in her double bed amount to much more than kissing, they have yet to adventure _that_ far._  
_

To be sure, he is willing, but although Jordan can name much worse that can happen in a family than divorce — not even that, yet, a _separation_ — he gets it enough to recognize it's traumatic for her, and has unloaded a burden of new worries and responsibilities upon her perviously unencumbered shoulders, and he's come to get, through a little trial and a lot of error, that she has enough change on her plate for the time being, and he wouldn't be helping his cause any — not to mention the girl he's supposedly fallen for — to press the issue now. He wants to_ sleep_ with her, that hasn't changed, but just sleeping with her doesn't feel like settling.

And in that vein, eventually their lips separate and they settle into a cuddle that will see them through the night. They're not playing house; they're not a miniature family. They're still each living separate lives, maintaining separate friends and separate schedules, but now that no one cares, why not spend the nights together? Plus, while her house might be a little melancholic, it's still a vastly better environment than his. He'll take sad and quiet over hostile and volatile, easily. Plus there's her. Jordan goes to work, he hangs with his friends, he rehearses with his band, he goes out at night, but after all of it he ends up ending the night with her.

It's hard to say what the others in the house have noticed, but so far no one's said anything. It used to be, when this all started, that Jordan was up and out of the house before anyone else awoke. But Patty's insomnia is pushing her out of the house earlier and earlier these days so that it's hard to stay ahead of her, and she seems so oblivious to things anyway, he gave up on trying to beat her out the door. Now, if he chooses, he just stays till it's time to leave for school. While he sleeps there, Jordan's got no claim on the Chase's craftsman — it's not his to become overly familiar with, he's still living at his place. His clothes are there, as are his guitars; only twice has he showered at the Chase's — but it's getting easier and easier to fall asleep with her close in his arms. And for her, having Jordan there in the darkness with her is the best thing she can think of to keep her mind from running in all the directions she does not want it to. He is a beautiful, solid, muscled distraction keeping her mind from uncontrollably churning over and over on _divorce_ and _affairs_ and _custody battles_ and the futility of a child's effort to repair her parent's expiring vows.


	5. Little sister

_**Thanks to everyone who's reading, and especially to you fabulous few who have taken the time to review! I'm glad this is working out all right. I have had a few short scenes, the one with Danielle in the bathroom for one, for this storyline for a couple of years now, but I never got around to writing a full story around them until now. I've been doing a lot of Walking Dead (hearts!) writing lately and I missed you guys and**_** MSCL**_** but am kind of overwhelmed by all the work still required by upcoming chapters in my existing MSCL stories, so I thought I'd try my hand at this. (That doesn't exactly make sense though does it?) Anyways, I'm happy to be back here with you, this fanship is so welcoming and gracious! xxx **_

* * *

While Angela showers Jordan travels downstairs in search of something in the way of a portable breakfast. Passing through the kitchen doorway he stops when he finds Danielle already in there. As much time as he's spent there lately, it's mostly late at night, after Danielle's in her room for the night, or he's just shut up with Angela in her own room; he's hardly seen Danielle. Even given the new arrangement he's not especially accustomed to being in a room alone with the little sister. He pauses, deliberating whether or not to retreat, but her young eyes are on him blankly, and it just seems stupid to wordlessly turn around and walk away, so he continues on, moving further into the room.

He looks her over, she's wearing some kind of wrinkled green getup. It doesn't look like normal clothes to him. Jordan nods, "Hey."

Danielle just looks at him. Lately it's hard for her to be impressed by anything, even her sister's boyfriend with whom she may have previously been fascinated. It never occurred to Jordan to try to impress her, he's merely trying to keep from stepping on toes and to mitigate the inherent awkwardness in their scenario.

He nods again, this time at her bowl of cereal, conscious not to make a thing of her finally eating, "There any more of that?" He wasn't exactly looking to eat a bowl of cereal this morning, but he can hear Angela's shower still running above their heads, so he figures he has time, and it seemed an innocuous enough conversation starter, or, stand-in.

Danielle looks at him, pushes a spoonful in her mouth while still looking at him, then shrugs. Not one for surplus conversation himself, and a heavy relier on wordless shrugs, Jordan's face cracks a half smile of appreciation, and takes the shrug as a passive invitation to see for himself. He opens the fridge and finds it surprisingly stocked for a woman who's barely going through the motions of normality and two girls without ready access to transportation. "You've got milk," he remarks, lifting the still mostly-full gallon of 1% from it's shelf in the fridge door.

Danielle takes another bite. "Camille."

This means nothing to Jordan. He's not even sure it was a name; _maybe a brand?_ He let's it go. Holding the milk in his hand Jordan looks to Danielle for a heads up as to where he can find a bowl. He should know; even before all this he'd grabbed a dish now and then from a cabinet, but he never remembers those kinds of things, not unless the place is a second home, like Tino's, or Shane's mom's place.

Danielle looks at him skeptically then points passionlessly to the cabinet to his left. "You should pay more attention; if you're here all the time."

Up to this point Danielle really hasn't said much about his constant presence, at least not to him. And now that she's said it, it didn't exactly come across as hostile. He nods and turns round to grab the dish. "Thanks." While the fridge is mostly well stocked, the cabinets are running low on clean dishes. Most likely the — they hadn't washed the dinner plates from the night before for one.

Danielle watches as Jordan locates the cereal, dumps a little in his bowl, and pours milk on top. He manages to get the blue cap on the plastic gallon jug, but he never actually returns the milk to the fridge. Instead, he leaves it on the counter while he goes in search for a spoon.

"In there," she finally offers, indicating the drawer he'd passed two times already.

He looks at her through his falling shaggy hair and smiles lightly; again he says, "Thanks." He pulls out a spoon. The silverware drawer only gets shut half closed.

"It'll go bad," she says, with no further explanation. He looks at her for some clarification as he raises his first spoonful to his mouth. "The milk. You can't just take what you want and leave the rest of it to spoil. You have to think about other people."

Jordan's attention's trained fully on the tweleve-year-old in front of him. He can see how it could get annoying, but he's kind of a fan of what a straight shooter this kid is. She doesn't pull any punches, she just says it. He's mostly always admired that in people. And Jordan finds himself wondering if she's always been like this, or if it's resulted from the turmoil in her living circumstances. He eyes the abandoned milk, glances once more at her, then takes it up and puts it away. "Happy?" He hasn't said it with an attitude.

"Thrilled," she responds dryly. Again he half smirks in good humor. "Nothing makes me happier than cold dairy."

Jordan can't recall encountering a kid this universally cynical, even he had been quick to laugh when he was her age. There's something in her stoney demeanor that's compelling, and as he sits himself atop the kitchen counter, eating his cereal and debating whether or not to make a fresh pot of coffee, Jordan takes up the challenge to befriend this girl.

But... he's not coming up with a lot to say to her... "You take the bus to school?"

Danielle looks at him, incredulous he'd really care. "Sometimes. I'm in a carpool. But..." It's kind of just hitting her her dad won't be around to drive it when his week next comes around.

"Mm,hm." _Now what?_ The running water upstair's been shut off for some time; Angela must be close to being ready and making it downstairs... He takes his last bite of cereal, and nods at her, "What's that you're wearin'?"

Danielle looks down at her green skirt blouse and vest, then back up at the seventeen-year-old struggling to make awkward conversation with her. "It's a uniform."

Jordan nods, guessing that makes sense. "What? You go to private school?"

Danielle's eyes narrow, _is he really this clueless?_ "Girl_Scouts," she says with drawn out emphasis. "It's a Girl Scouts uniform."

"Oh. Right." Danielle's not convinced her explanation holds any meaning for this Jordan Catalano. "Cool." His brow furrows as something occurs to him, "Ya hav'ta wear that every day?"

Now it's Danielle's brows that furrow, "No. We wear them on the days we have meetings." She was going to let it drop there, but for some reason she adds, "_Only_... not everybody does it now. It's all kinda, falling apart."

"Yeah?" he asks. "How come?"

For the first time that morning Danielle looks at him like he might be a person worth talking to; he isn't turning out to be the worst listener. "Because... everybody thinks they're too cool. You know, _sixth grade._"

"Yeh," he chuckles, appreciating the way she's mocking her peers and their new sense of self-importance from such a trial milestone such as the sixth grade.

"We worked so hard on this troop," she grouses, "since _kindergarden. _And everyone's just, giving up on it. I don't think there'll even _be_ a troop next year."

"Sucks." Jordan's watched his band fall apart twice, he get's what that's like.

"What sucks?" It's Angela behind them, dressed, hair dried, and entering the kitchen. They both look at her.

"Nothing."

Angela, gratified to see her sister's been eating, and evidently speaking, looks from Danielle to Jordan, "You ready?"


	6. Shane

After parting with Angela at the front entrance, Jordan makes his way down Liberty's east corridor, thinking back on the days when it would have been a real question if he was going to class. "Catalano."

Jordan stops, and hangs back, letting Shane catch up with him. "Hey. How's it goin'."

Cracking his knuckles Shane looks Jordan over, smiling, "Not bad." He jerks his head and they continue down the hall. As they walk Jordan slaps hands with a friend as they pass and Shane wags his brows at three girls he's working on, adding a whistle for one of them. Rounding the corner near the stairwell Shane asks, "Hey, uh, what time's your curfew, guy? 'Cuz, Joey's got this thing going tonigh—"

Jordan laughs, "My _what?_"

"_Curfew_, man. Now that you're all, domesticated an' shit."

Jordan shakes his head and just lets it roll off his back. "'s not like that."

"Yeah?" Shane cracks a smile, jabbing his friend in the shoulder. "What's it _like_?"

"_Hey_," Jordan scoffs, "you asking what '_it's_'_ like_?" Both boys chuckle and Jordan gives his buddy a fraternal shove down the hall.

"Hold up," Shane stops them at a locker and turns the combination.

Jordan looks around, "Who's locker is this?"

The locker pops open and Shane gives Jordan a mischievous wink. "Carla's."

Jordan swallows his good-natured surprise. "Olson?"

"Uh,huh," Shane relishes, biting down a bit wickedly on the tip of his tongue.

Jordan laughs. "What're ya doing in Carla Olson's locker?"

"You kidding?" Shane takes a look in either direction, then reaches back behind a couple notebooks and pulls out a brown bottle of booze. He passes it off to Jordan, tucking it inside his corduroy jacket. "_Man_," he grins, "you of all people should know this — the good girls? The straight ones? Their lockers _never_ get searched." He shuts the door and walks on. "Safety zone."

Jordan snickers and walks with his friend back through the halls, keeping the glass bottle steady within his jacket until he can slip it into his pocket; he glances at his friend, "You gettin' into this now?"

Knowingly he chuckles, "_Uh,huh_," like he knows what Jordan's about. "I c'n see Chase's handprints all over _that._"

"Shut up."

"Never knew a Catalano to say 'Too early' b'fore. 's all I'm sayin'," he chuckles with a smirk. "Wh_a_t?" he rips. "You give it up? Along with your own little beddy-bye and Casa Catalano."

"O-_kay_," Jordan cuts in, "quit it."

"She doin' your laundry, too? Cookin', and putting you to bed at a respectable hour?" Shane smirks again, taking great pleasure in ragging on his friend.

Shane doesn't bother Jordan; he means nothing by it. In the first place his current thing with Angela hasn't cramped anything with his friends, he goes out as much as ever — he hasn't gone into hiding. It wouldn't faze him anyway if he did mean anything by it. The siuation at Angela's is shit for her but he's growing to like it. Well, not _it_ itself, but the time he's spending with her. Jordan's always been cool with being on his own, to some degree, but he sees that changing. It's not bad, walking through a door at the end of a night knowing someone's there who'll care, who's maybe even waiting. It doesn't mean it's serious between them — not just by default, but he's not dense enough or proud enough to deny he'd missed her in those weeks he hadn't had her. And he'll be damned if he doesn't take pleasure in knowing that she's his. He even takes some pleasure in knowing that she needs him — that as useless as he can be, he's got something real, if not readily identifiable, that she needs. He can give her that, and he can get what he needs too (if not all that he wants), and it's working out okay. For once. 'Cuz for him, things don't always do so. Shane and the others could go to hell if they have a problem with the current arrangement, only, Shane doesn't.

"'S a good gig," he nods, side chewing on a loose pen cap. "A game girl and a house to go home to — a house that's not _yours._" All Shane Trudenowski cares about is Jordan Catalano being Jordan Catalano; it doesn't matter to him where he's sleeping. For one thing, he'd be hard pressed to begrudge a buddy a warm bed. Shane winks conspiratorially, "Sweet situation."

"'S not like that."

"I _know_ what it's not like," he smirks, telling his friend he knows exactly how 'game' his girl is not. "It's cool."


End file.
